Sensitive
by mayfever
Summary: Supposed to be a sequel to "Hunted", but can be read on its own. Chameron, Chase's POV. Set between 3x14 "Insensitive" and 3x15 "Half-Wit". Warning: slightly smutty.


„So I'm thinking we should have sex."

The words kept echoing in his head, he had been replaying them over and over again for the past couple of hours, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He had slept with Cameron again and this time she had been sober – perfectly so. Inside his head he kept hearing her absolutely rational explanation of her conclusion, that because they were co-workers, it would be convenient, and his own stupid reply "Like microwave pizza". At the time it had sounded glib and he had been convinced that it served its purpose of conveying how perfectly cool he was with the outrageous thing she'd just suggested, but now he heard it for what it really was: a stupid, unfunny joke that precisely demonstrated how much she'd confused him with her unexpected demand.

How was this supposed to continue? Exactly they way that Cameron planned it to, he supposed; because even though he didn't have a clue, the way she had acted made him assume that she was pretty sure of what she was doing. And he was certain of at least one thing: that he couldn't say no to her, no matter what it was she asked from him. And she knew this, of course. Ever since that one day two years ago, when he'd asked her out and she'd refused, and even more after they'd slept together for the first time, the balance of power had been clearly laid out. He had probably pulled more all-nighters than the doorman and the number of people he had broken bad news to he assumed to be more or less exactly twice as high as with any other doctor at PPTH. And he didn't even mind. Neither had he expected anything in return; that hope he'd given up long ago.

His infatuation with her, however, hadn't faded, and he suspected it never would as long as he was still around her every day. He had been cautiously delighted when she had abandoned her initial dislike of him and a tentative, casual friendship had begun to evolve between them. As of yet, their conversations had never touched upon any personal matters, but they would often hang out together in the cafeteria at lunchtime or the doctors' lounge between shifts and bitch about House or complain about insufferable patients… and then came Valentine's Day, and her casual remark.

***

"So what if I'm not offended by your judgment?"

She is already in her car, ready to back out of the parking-lot when he catches up with her. She rolls down the window to brush off the snow and leans out. There is something slightly ironic about the way she smiles. It isn't even a real smile; it's more of a sneer although not quite. "Then you'd better get in the car quickly."

He does, not without bumping his leg on the dashboard and he curses inwardly because it hurts, but if she has noticed, she doesn't let it on.

They drive in silence. Her apartment isn't far from campus, but the drive seems to take forever. He clasps his hands to stop them from shaking and at the same time he is annoyed with himself. He's thirty years old and he feels and acts like a teenager, and he doesn't like that at all. Normally he is smooth around women, used to his capacity of turning them into a quivering mess merely by holding their gaze a split second too long.

Not Cameron, though. To all intents and purposes she seems impervious to his friendly manner and easy-going charm. But now he is in the car with her, and they stop in front of her apartment block and get out, and she puts the key in the lock and they get in the lift and ride three floors and all the while he is unsure about so many things. While he waits for her to open the door to her flat, he is suddenly preoccupied with how close he should be standing to her, or if he should be touching her. He pulls off his gloves and puts his hand on the small of her back experimentally, but she shakes it off impatiently and he doesn't try again.

He doesn't quite know how it has happened, but suddenly he finds himself pressed helplessly against the wall once again. Once again, her lips are on his and her hands are already roaming under his jacket, tugging at his shirt buttons and exploring the soft skin underneath. Once again she has taken him by surprise. How can this be the same Cameron he has known for almost two years, the woman that seems almost asexual in her professionalism at work? But it takes him only a moment to get used to her again…

***

The next morning he wakes up ages before the alarm goes off. It takes him a couple of seconds to realise where he is, why he is wearing a t-shirt that doesn't belong to him and why he feels so pleasantly sore. Then he remembers and he turns around, and he sees her. She sleeps on her side, a pillow hugged to her chest and her face framed by dark curls. She looks so peaceful that she seems almost childlike, and he is suddenly overwhelmed by such a fierce rush of tenderness for her that he has to grip the sheets in order to prevent himself from gripping her. She stirs and quickly he averts his eyes because he doesn't want to creep her out because he is staring at her like a psycho, so he lies on his back for ages and listens to the early morning racket starting up in the streets through the thin walls of her apartment.

When the alarm clock finally springs to life, he makes a great show of pretending to slowly peel his eyes open and look around in momentary confusion. He knows that he has to Keep It Light and that he must under no circumstances Utter Any Expectations. He is familiar with the unwritten laws of One-Night-Standistan, he used to be a regular tourist, but apparently she isn't because she makes no attempt at getting up, throwing him his clothes and putting him out on the street without a proper shower, the way she is supposed to. Instead, she crawls towards him and curls up against his side, warm and sleepy like a kitten, and she kisses the side of his throat and licks his Adam's apple and whispers things in his ear that make him forget that they both have to be at work in an hour.

***

The freakin' hair had given them away. _Did you two shower together? _He smirked as he remembered. With the knowledge that they were already running late, they had giggled like schoolchildren in the shower and she had insisted on lathering him in foamy shower gel and paying particular attention to certain areas, and exhausted and all as they were, they had done it again in a slow, lazy fashion that allowed him to pretend that he was actually making love to her. In the end, there had been no time left for trivial things like hair-drying; still breathless they had tumbled out into the crisp morning air without having had as much as a coffee. And here he was in his crumpled, less-than-pristine yesterday shirt and found that it had been a very long time since he had felt this alive.

So House knew. And Foreman, was he still dating that nurse? Either way, the rest of the staff would doubtlessly know by lunchtime. They were probably paging each other with the news right now. Whatever. What about Cuddy? Would it bother her? What if it did, did he care? He probed his feelings and found he didn't. And anyway, what was she supposed to do about it, fire them? Because of an alleged affair? He knew it had happened to other employees before, maybe even at Princeton-Plainsboro, but even in his head it sounded ridiculous. He wasn't going to let anyone ruin this for him. _I won't fuck this up_, he vowed silently. _I won't fuck this up._


End file.
